


Typical

by The_Singular_Peep



Series: Raising Him Right [2]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies)
Genre: Gen, I try to be funny a lot, Quill is annoying but means well, Rocket is just so tired, Team as Family, and also be a cutie, legit just a lot of bonding, let rocket raccoon take a nap 2k17, tiny baby groot likes to cause trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-19
Updated: 2017-06-19
Packaged: 2018-11-15 22:50:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11240922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Singular_Peep/pseuds/The_Singular_Peep
Summary: They thought he might be a little different, but not too much. They expected Groot stuck in a sprout’s body. What they did not expect was for Groot to be an actual infant.Or, nine times Rocket insisted Groot was grown, and one time he accepted his fatherhood.[HAPPY FATHERS DAY! ONE-SHOT. COMPLETE. PT.2 OF THE 'RAISING HIM RIGHT' SERIES. TW FOR VOMIT. RATED TEEN FOR BLEEPED OUT SWEARING.]





	Typical

* * *

**_Typical_ **

 

* * *

* * *

 

 

All things considered, no one had expected Groot to go right back to being himself.

 

“Well, duh, ‘course not.” Peter had said, his mouth full and his hand holding a sandwich. “He kinda blew up and came back. ‘Don’t think anyone would be the exact same after that.”

 

And everyone had agreed. They expected Groot to be a little more timid, or maybe more vocal. They expected a little tiny tree that shared Groot’s full memories and mindset, but lacked any strength. They expected Groot stuck in a sprout’s body.

 

What they did __not__ expect was for Groot to be an actual __infant.__

 

Now, that fact didn’t prove to be all true. Recent developments had shown the crew that Groot w _ _as__ beginning to regain his memories from before. He knew who each of them were, and he stayed closest to Rocket when at all possible, and he was able to hum a few tunes that Rocket hadn’t heard since before __it__ happened. But at the same time…

 

There were so many things that were __different.__ So many things that made him younger.

 

So many things that made him closest to a Terran toddler.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time they noticed it was no more than a week after Groot’s sprout had developed a little face, and had tiny little twigs sticking out where arms would soon be.

 

They were all sitting in the kitchen together -- as they sometimes did to discuss plans -- and some were nursing drinks of alcohol when the tiny potted plant began to do something peculiar.

 

“Well, I don’t agree with that! We should -- “ Gamora paused mid-rant, her eyes fixated on the sprout in Rocket’s arms. Rocket bristled a little, realizing that both Drax and Peter had also looked to him to follow Gamora’s gaze.

 

“What, I got a growth or somethin’?” He asked defensively before looking down and noticing it himself. Quill was the first to speak.

 

“What’s he doin’?” He asked, his eyes squinted in concentration and confusion. Rocket shared the same look as he set the pot down on the table. The plant startled a second, swaying to regain his balance before continuing his action. His little lips slowly opened and closed over and over again, as if on repeat, as he shifted his tiny brown eyes around to different members of the crew.

 

He made a small grunting noise when no one obliged, and continued the motion with more vigor.

 

“What do you want, buddy?” Rocket asked, his tone too gentle for the words he normally used. Groot emitted a little squeak before continuing again.

 

“Could he be trying to talk?” Peter guessed. “Like, he hasn’t said any words since…” He trailed off, and Drax opened his mouth.

 

“That is the look of a hungry infant.” He said matter-of-factedly. Rocket didn’t even grace him a glance, his eyes still trained carefully on Groot.

 

“He’s not a baby, ya numbskull. Can’t be that.”

 

“My skull is not numb in any sense of the word. It is full of feeling.” Drax stated with a little nod of his head. The rest of his group ignored him completely.

 

“C’mon buddy, spit it out,” Rocket tried, trying to sound encouraging.

 

“What if he says more than ‘I am groot’ this time?!” Peter wondered excitedly. He grinned, leaning over the plant and reaching out a finger to touch his stem. Groot shied away and made a little face. “Come on little fella, say ‘Peter!’”

 

“I do not believe we should try to change him,” Gamora cut in, pushing the pot away from Peter’s prying fingers. It was Peter’s turn to make a face. Drax continued his earlier thought, his eyes not leaving Groot’s mouth for a second.

 

“No, no, I know that look.” He began, slowly nodding as he made sure his words were precise and correct. “ It is the one that Kamaria would make when she wished to partake in a meal from my Hovat’s beautiful teat.”

 

Peter and Rocket both made horrified, disgusted faces, their hands held out in front of them to block the way Drax had looked to the ceiling and cupped his hand in the vague shape of a breast.

 

“Woah. Dude.” Peter cringed, making an odd noise in his throat. “Too much.”

 

Drax shrugged. He knew he was right.

 

“Feed the small tree-man. You will appreciate doing so when he sleeps all the way to morning.”

 

There was a pause, and, as quick as he had begun speaking, Drax stood and walked from the room. Rocket made a face.

 

“Do you think he’s right?” He whispered, careful to make sure the muscled man couldn’t hear him.

 

Peter shrugged, pondering the idea.  

 

“Guess it’s worth a go.”

 

He stood then and went to the fridge, taking a few moments to rummage through materials until he came up with the desired item -- a bag of spinach. Or, what resembled spinach. Quill figured it probably had some weird, space-y name instead. He plucked one leaf and made his way back to the table with the bag in his other hand. He leaned over the pot adoringly.

 

“You want some food, lil guy? Huh? You want some?” He cooed, making a face. Rocket rolled his eyes.

 

“He’s not a baby, Quill. Gimme that.” The small mammal reached over forcibly and grabbed the leaf before turning Groot towards him, glaring at Quill the whole way. He began to carefully move the vegetable towards Groot’s mouth, and pointedly ignored the babyish way the plant was now bouncing to reach it. His little mouth closed around the tip of the leaf and he began to chew, emitting happy little mewling noises as he did so.

 

“That sure is one fine-a** adult you got there, Grouchy McFur-Pants,” Peter laughed, and was greeted with a bag of spinach to the face.

 

* * *

 

 

“I do not like this plan.”

 

It was growled more than spoke, and, as he zipped her dress, Peter felt almost scared.

 

He would have felt more scared if the plan in question didn’t allow him to see Gamora in formal wear.

 

“C’mon, Gams, it’ll be fine!” The Terran grinned, stepping away as Gamora adjusted her shoulder straps. She stopped for a moment and made a noise of annoyance deep in her throat

 

“Do __not__ call me Gams.”

 

“Alright, fine, fine,” Peter said defensively, holding up his hands. He grinned though, which kind of threw off his ‘I’m sorry’ look.

 

“You look…wow.” He said, winking for emphasis. “I would tap that.”

 

He was greeted with a little-more-forceful-than-friendly-punch to the chest, even though the punch-er was smiling a tiny bit at the punch-ee. Still, he retaliated quickly.

 

“Hey, uh, we kinda need to do something to your hair…” When met with a quizzical look, Peter continued. “For the disguise. With those bad-a** tips, anyone will know who you are.” Gamora gave him a look, and put a hand to her hair.

 

“Everyone will know who I am by my skin…”

 

“Not the point. Just about anyone can have green skin these days. But that skin __and__ that hair? Too obvious. C’mere, we can fix it right up. I know a thing er two about hairdressing.” Peter winked, and failed to hear Rocket climbing up into the room, a potted Groot clutched tightly in his arms.

 

“Did you used to do the ravagers’ hair for ‘em, Miss Priss?”

 

Peter likes to think that he didn’t jump and scream in a very high register at this.

 

“Sh*t, Rocket! Knock before you scare me to death.” He said, composing himself with a deep breath and a hand on his hip.

 

“Scaring a man should not kill him. If that is the case, you may need to see a medical professional.”

 

A hand went to Peter’s face as Drax also entered the room, and he sighed dramatically.

 

“Come on, guys, its too cramped in here for this. Why’re you all in here?”

 

Drax shrugged, and Rocket followed suit.

 

“Thought it’d be fun to mess with ya havin’ a girly slumber party with the Gams.” He said with a teasing grin. Peter tried very hard not to take offense at this, but then he realized something. He put his hands on his hips.

 

“Wait, how come __he__ can call you nicknames and I can’t?!”

 

Gamora shrugged, her elegant eyes closing as she did so.

 

“Because he has asked me to.”

 

“Well, can I call you ‘Gams’?”

 

Gamora’s eyes opened to roll them up at Quill in a sassy manner.

 

“No.”

 

Peter began to protest, but one look from the woman in question caused him to rethink his words. With that, he began to work, and the team fell into a comfortable silence.

 

Gamora waited patiently as Quill did her hair in some fancy manner, Quill rolled and pinned and braided in a steady fashion with bobby pins clamped tightly in his mouth, Drax busied himself with pushups off to the side, and Rocket busied himself in the middle of the floor with taking __something (__ Peter was sure it was probably important to his ship,) apart to use for parts, and Groot was happy just to be there, swaying in his pot to silent music.

 

Within minutes, however, the lack of sound was broken by humming. Quill had begun, his lips buzzing out a familiar tune. Soon, the humming wasn’t enough.

 

“...baby, give me one more chance…” He sang softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

 

He was greeted by Rocket humming softly to the same tune, and Gamora’s foot began to tap. Peter turned up his volume, just a little. And then Rocket had joined him absently. And then Drax had taken one for the team and had wandered to the tape deck and, after a few seconds of fast forwarding, had started the song.

 

Soon, the entire room was filled with the loud, laughing melody of all four voices up against the track, the words fully memorized by now, in some sort of out-of-tune, screamed version of Want You Back.

 

Groot, for one, was enjoying the atmosphere and sound of the room, and began to dance in his pot. Even if he was unable to sing, he still wished to contribute however he could.

 

“But now, your hair is beeauuutiful,” Peter sang to the tune of the song, putting a finishing touch from an age-old bottle of hairspray into his charge’s locks before re-evaluating and starting to work on a different curl. Gamora smiled, shaking her head, causing Peter to step back for a moment.

 

“You are ridiculous!” She shouted above the music, standing and turning to watch Quill continue to dance where he was.

 

“I’m not ridiculous, baby, you are!”

 

It was perfect. Rocket was shimmying in place as he worked on his bomb, and even Drax’s shoulders had begun to twitch a little to the beat as he now began to clean his weapons. Groot was dancing away, emitting little chirps of happiness as he did so. He was completely occupied until something shiny caught his eye to his lower right. He twisted his little back to see it, and soon he was bent over, tiny hands reaching for the object.

 

“Rocket, get Groot away from Gamora’s makeup! He’s gonna drool on it or somethin’,” Quill shouted, noticing the lipstick Groot was slowly trying to touch as he went back to trying to fix Gamora’s hair, willing her to sit back down so he didn’t have to reach.

 

Rocket rolled his eyes as the song drew to an end, his loving mood trailing away with it.

 

“Idiot, he’s not gonna __drool__ onit.” The mammal retorted, his hand still laced in wire as he tried to figure out which piece to cut out. “He’s not a baby. Just a very small…”

 

“Tree man.” Drax supplied. He nodded as he said it, looking very sure of himself.

 

“Yeah, what muscle-maniac said. He’s just a little tree-man. Still Groot.”

 

Peter made a face and held his hands up.

 

“If you say so, man.”

 

And the group went back to their comfortable silence.  

 

Five minutes passed, then ten, and within fifteen, Peter stepped back to admire his handiwork.

 

“Voila!” He said, holding his fingers to his mouth and kissing them, much like a Terran would do after baking a perfect pizza.

 

“What is a ‘voila’?” Gamora asked slowly, her face concerned as her hand traveled frantically to the back of her head. “Did you permanently damage my hair?”

 

“No, no, it just means… uh.. Ta-da. Like, you did something and you’re proud of it.”

 

Gamora nodded placidly, relaxing back in her chair. Drax made a face at the sword he was working with.

 

“That does not explain why you kissed your grubby fingers.” He mumbled.

 

Off behind Rocket, Groot had finally managed to reach his target. With little vines stretched only a small amount from his fingers, he grasped the shiny tube and looked at it.

 

The end his hands were on was smooth. It was golden, and shiny. He pulled it to his face and gave a little sniff, before nibbling the side of the gold.

 

It was not food, but the texture was hard and slippery and nice on his teeth. He moved to the other end, which was red. He brought this, too, to his face for a good inspection. It smelled of sugar.

 

“Okay, beautiful, now for the final touch,” Peter was speaking in an accent now to match his hand motions. No one else seemed to understand it, but Peter didn’t care. “Would you like contour or baby face this evening?”

 

“What?”

 

He answered for himself instead and moved to the pile of makeup supplies he had recently purchased for his companion, and bent to grab the spilled items off of the floor.

 

“Groot! What?! No, get that out of your mouth!”

 

Peter’s shout caused Rocket to look up from his project to see his ‘small tree man’ with a very red overlay to his mouth, very red teeth, and…

 

A tube of lipstick in his mouth. A tube of lipstick with over half of the tip bitten clean off.

 

“ _ _Oh, he won’t eat it, he’s not a baby,”__ Peter imitated. Gamora was stifling a laugh behind them, and Groot looked innocently from one of his guardians to the other. Rocket huffed.

 

“He’s __not.”__

__

Peter rolled his eyes and pulled the makeup from the baby’s mouth. Groot reached for it forlornly and made a minuscule whimpering noise.

 

“Uh-huh. Sure. Keep telling yourself that, grumpus.”

 

* * *

 

 

 

After three weeks, they have a steady routine. Groot has grown some, and, though he’s still in his pot, he has advanced three sizes of said pot just in the last week.

 

“He’s growing like a weed,” Quill said as the group sat around the table, enjoying yet another ‘family’ meal. Gamora nods, and Drax cocks his head.

 

“He is not like a weed. He is a weed.”

 

Rocket snarls at the large man, placing a protective hand on the pot before him. He speaks with his mouth full, not bothering to care how it looked.

 

“’S not a weed, ya dou**e. He’s a Flora Collosus.”

 

“He is small. In no way is he Collosal.”

 

Peter laughed. Rocket rolled his eyes and dunked a piece of his food into a small bowl of water.

 

“It’s his __species,__ idiot.”

 

And then Groot yawned and stretched, and just like that, the small argument was forgotten.

 

“Someone’s awake!” Peter cooed, a bite of cereal in his mouth. Gamora made a face at him and stood, stretching a little herself.

 

“Good morning, Groot. Would you like something to eat?”

 

The sprout nodded enthusiastically, bouncing as much as he could in the little pot. Gamora moved to the fridge and began to prepare some sort of fruit for him to enjoy.

 

“You gotta quit pamperin’ him,” Rocket stated, wiping his mouth and letting his hand drip water onto the table. “He’s gonna end up thinkin’ he’s some princess.”  

 

And then they began to argue. It was loud, and Groot didn’t like it, but at least Gamora was still in his sights. Other than Rocket, she was his favorite. He liked the warmth of her skin when she petted him, and he liked how she smelled -- a mix of sweat and lavender-- and her hair was always as smooth as milk with the scent of honey. She made him feel loved and warm and happy, and she fed him and picked up on all of his little cues.  

 

She loved him, too, but that didn’t stop her from turning around to join the argument. From turning around away from his breakfast.

 

He opened his mouth to tell Rocket it was too loud, and that he wanted to eat, but nothing came out. He pulled his lips together in frustration, and made a humming noise. No one seemed to notice. He flapped his little arms and wiggled a bit, but, still, no one noticed. It was getting frustrating, and he began to open and close his mouth frantically, hoping someone would remember to get him his food. The argument had simply continued, and was now off in the depths of an obscure corner no one ever thought to discuss. Groot was growing impatient, and the group was growing louder. By this point, there were no coherent thoughts anymore, and everyone was simply shouting over one another. All were standing, and Groot was simply covering his ears as his stomach ached with hunger.

 

“Have you __ever__ taken your shoes off?! Oh my gosh, you haven’t! Your feet are suffocating, Drax. I hope you know that.”

 

“Why would I take them off?! I believe we should all wear shoes at all times, human! There is no excuse to take your feet out of their containment unless you are wanting to infect them!”

 

“Calm down! There is no need to argue over this!”

 

“Man, I don’t even __have__ shoes! What are you gonna do, stab me?!”

 

“YOU CANNOT DECIDE THAT, DRAX. WE’RE ALL IN THIS AS A TEAM, AND WE CAN TAKE OUR SHOES OFF WHENEVER WE PLEASE.”

 

“Fine, but when you get a foot fungus from Gamora’s sweat and this Rodent’s disgusting paws, it is your own fault!”

 

“DON’T YOU DARE CALL ME A RODENT.”

 

And as it continued, Groot decided he was not going to have it. He saw his fruit, left halfway through preparation on the far counter. And he intended to retrieve it. If only he could get out of this pot…

 

With a great lurch, and an even greater tug, Groot had manage to knock his pot off the table. It was intentional, and, with their own yelling overpowering the crash, he managed to get away with it without his team noticing. And once on the ground, he wiggled his little feet free from the soil.

 

On Groot’s home planet, it was the elders who taught the saplings to remove their roots and begin moving around on their own. Being without their help now, and only his instinct to go on, the child had to figure out how to on his own. It proved to be quite difficult, but within ten minutes, he was well on his way.  

 

Within twenty, he still hadn’t been noticed and had almost completed his goal.

 

He slowly stood, using all of his strength to get up on both feet. And at first he toppled, back onto the broken pot. That didn’t break his spirit, but even after five minutes of trying, he still couldn’t remain standing. Perplexed, he turned to the next best method.

 

He began to crawl.

 

“Only a Terran would have such minuscule feet! Even Gamora has larger feet than you, Quill.”

 

“Did you just insult my __feet?!__ Not cool, man! You can’t judge people on their feet. Look at Groot, he doesn’t even have --”  

 

And then they saw him, and all was quiet.

 

“Oh. My. Gosh.”  

 

He was sitting upon the counter, his new, tiny and inexperienced feet sticking out in front of him. And he had a large mouthful of fruit. He smiled as he noticed his friends looking at him, the fruit falling out and dribbling down his chin. He waved with a thin spindly arm. Gamora waved back, stunned.

 

They all were stunned.

 

And Rocket was crying.

 

“Are you proud, dad?” Peter said teasingly to Rocket.

 

Said Raccoon punched him in the stomach.

 

* * *

 

 

After a long day, the team had resigned to simply lazing around in the cockpit to keep Peter and Rocket company as the pair kept their eyes open for any unforeseen obstacles.

 

Currently, they were having a calm conversation.

 

“Mmm,” Groot mumbled, reaching to Rocket from his place on Gamora. The green woman obliged, and Groot instantly latched on to his chosen caregiver, nuzzling his little face into his fur.

 

“I can’t believe he isn’t walking yet.” Gamora whispered, slightly concerned with the child’s development. “Shouldn’t he be more mobile by now?”

 

Rocket shrugged.

 

“Ain’t never raised one of these suckers before. Maybe it’s normal for ‘im. Right, Groot?”

 

The baby gave a little burble and wiggled.

 

“I can’t believe Rocket still thinks Groot’s an adult.” Peter says mockingly then, looking to Gamora but with an obvious focus on Rocket. The raccoon makes a huffy noise and glares.

 

“He __is__ one, that’s why. Geez, I can’t believe you guys think he’s an infant. Groot’s a big killing machine, not some bark-toddler. Even if he is little right now.” Rocket says matter-of-factedly. Peter points his glance specifically to the sapling clinging to Rocket’s fur. “This is normal. He woulda done this before, ‘sept he was too big. This thick-headed idiot is the galaxy’s biggest when it comes to being a sap. Literal and metaphorical.”

 

Peter rolled his eyes, and Rocket thrust the child in his arms at him.

 

“You think he’s such a baby, why don’t you take him. Prove it.”

 

The Terran obliged, taking the tree. Groot gave him a big, wooden smile and stuck his little tongue out.

 

“Who’s a cutie?! Huh?!” Peter cooed, lifting him up above his head and leaning back a little. He pulled the infant back towards him. “It’s you! Yes!” And then he repeated this process.

 

Rocket imitated a gag, and Gamora chuckled behind a delicate hand.

 

After nearly six repetitions of this ‘Who’s Cute’ question, Groot was beginning to not giggle as much.

 

After ten, he was making a face of pure discomfort. Rocket realized what was happening, and __almost__ told Peter to stop. He thought better of it.

 

At eleven, when Peter had the twig hoisted above him and poised just above his mouth, Groot made a little gagging noise. Down came more vomit than anyone though possible for a child of his size, right into Peter’s open mouth.

 

“Oh my go--” Peter started. He stood quickly and thrust Groot at Rocket, spitting profusely onto the ground. “Oh my gosh, that was disgusting! What the he**, I’m--” He shuddered, greenish spit up dripping from his chin. “I’m gonna go shower.”

 

Rocket listened to the chorus of “ews” as the Terran walked away, cleaning Groot’s messy face with a handkerchief as he did so. And he laughed.  

 

\--

 

Within a few days, after a long flight through treacherous conditions, the Guardians had decided together to go to a bar. Unwilling to leave Groot on the ship alone, Rocket had smuggled him in in Quill’s jacket pocket.

 

The group was seating calmly at a booth, having a very animated conversation about their favorite foods.

 

“I prefer the meat of an animal I conquer myself.” Drax had said first, looking into the distance and clenching his fist. Peter gave a comical overly-concerned look at Gamora, who laughed at this.

 

“Yeah? Well I like just about anything. I ain’t as picky as you fancy-a** people are.” Rocket chimed in. Groot nudged his finger a little. “This guy likes greens. Can’t eat meat or he ends up pukin’ for hours.”

Another nudge. “His favorite are Xandarian Apples, though. First thing we ate after Halfworld were those suckers.”

 

“I also find a favorite in Xandarian apples.” Gamora smiles before turning to Peter, “What about you, __Star Lord?__ You were the one to ask in the first place.”

 

The man grinned.

 

“I like butter. And butter conveyance systems.”

 

Before Peter’s profound love of butter could process, however, their drinks arrived.

 

“A shot of straight tequila, an Appletini, a Margarita, and a shot of whiskey?” The Togrutan female asked, smiling as she placed the tray on their table. Peter nodded and winked as he did so.

 

“Yes ma’am, but I think you’re missing my order.”

 

“Oh, and what is that?” She asked, her Shili accent thick. Peter flashed her a toothy grin.

 

“Your number.”

 

She flashed him her fangs and left without another word, ‘accidentally’ bopping him on the head with her tray as she did so. 

Peter smiled at Gamora sheepishly as he rubbed his head. She crossed her arms, her jaw set and eyes stern.

 

“What? I was just joking.”

 

“You were __not,”__ Rocket laughed, “You wanted to bang her!”

 

“I didn’t! Gamora is __way__ hotter, any day.”

 

With this playful fight, no one noticed Groot crawling over to the drinks. Or pulling himself into a standing position at the Appletini. Or dunking his head straight in.

 

It wasn’t until he started to accidentally knock the drink off the table that someone realized where he was.

 

“Woah, hey, somebody grab him!” Rocket shouted after finally seeing the twig. Peter was the first to oblige, pulling Groot away with one hand before he could fall to the ground following the beverage. It landed with a crash.

 

“You got a bit carried away, little man!” The Terran said, laughing at Groot’s now dripping face as he held him up. He set the kid on the table, much to the smaller’s irritation, and began to dry his face with a napkin.

 

And then Groot coughed, the napkin bothering him. And then he lurched, and vomited, covering Quill’s hand in the white, filmy substance.

 

“What?! Again?!” The man shouted, pulling his hand away and flinging it as if to get the sick off.

 

“What? He throw up on ya?” Rocket asked. Peter nodded, making an angry noise as Groot crawled back towards Rocket and plopped down in front of him. He was grinning, a small an innocent smile, seemingly not understanding -- or caring -- what he had done.  

 

“You deserved it this time, Quill.” Gamora said softly, nodding in a condescending manner.

 

“Why is it always me?” The man in question mumbled, wiping his hand on a napkin. Rocket laughed and clapped his tiny friend on the back with enough force to knock him over completely.

 

“You should feel honored, man. He’s givin’ you a gift.”

 

\--

“He’s got hiccups.”

 

Rocket walks into the kitchen at six am, plopping Groot on the table in front of Quill at breakfast. “Do your thing.”

 

In the month and a half since the group was thrown together and dubbed the Guardians of the Galaxy, the one thing that Peter Quill had managed to do was prove himself as a “Master Hiccup Getter-Rid-Of-er” (His words).

 

He’d be lying if he didn’t say he was proud of himself for being the one the raccoon had entrusted his baby to for this.

 

“Of course. C’mere, little buddy.” He took Groot from the table and carefully laid him across his lap, stomach down.

 

Groot wondered what was going on at that point, but he trusted Rocket and Peter, and so he let it happen. He even stretched his legs out a little so that he wouldn’t slip off into the Abyss (which was actually the floor) between Peter’s thighs. If his diaphragm hadn’t been so painfully spasming, he might have actually enjoyed the position. It made him feel like he was a fish. Or maybe a mermaid. Or something else that moved horizontally.

 

“So we’re gonna tap your back a little, okay? Hold your breath.”

 

Peter was always so gentle with Groot. He appreciated that, and the way he always would warn the small tree if he were going to touch him. Groot liked Peter.

 

He didn’t like how it felt to be tapped on the back.

 

“Oh, hey Quill, you might wanna stop. He’s…”

 

Rocket cut himself off.

 

“He’s what?”

 

Rocket stifled a laugh before calmly responding to Quill.

 

“Nevermind.”

 

And then Peter’s leg was covered in baby vomit, and Rocket couldn’t hold his laughter anymore.

 

Peter looked up at him and glared, not even remotely phased by it anymore.

 

“At least… At least he’s not hiccupping anymore,” Rocket laughed, causing Peter to get a little agitated. He lifted Groot from his lap and onto the table, then stood.

 

“Friends don’t let friends puke on other friends, Rocket.” He said accusingly. Gamora cut in, also smiling at Peter’s misfortune.

 

“They do if the second friend is an infant.”

 

Rocket didn’t stop laughing but waved her off.

 

“No, I do it because it’s frickin hilarious!”

 

* * *

 

 

Drax normally rose before the rest of the Guardians. This was true.

 

What was __not__ true, however, was Drax rising before a full sleep cycle had been completed. In fact, before even __half__ of a sleep cycle had been completed. He was a light sleeper.After all, compared to the others in his team, who wouldn’t be considered one?

 

And so, even as his teammates slept, it was very hard indeed for Drax to sleep when he heard the clanging of cupboards and spilling of water from the kitchen.

 

Groaning, the large man stood and rolled his neck back. Quill must have decided to make one of his Terran dishes that took hours upon hours to fix.

 

Drax enjoyed Quill’s cooking, and so, he must investigate.

 

Right now.

 

The large man pushed his door open quietly as to not awaken the rest of his team, and stepped into the hall. Unlike what he expected, he was not greeted with the warm scent of a baked and sugary pastry. He was also not greeted with the zesty smell of a traditional omlet, or quiche, or even the strange scent of a new attempted dish from an unknown planet. Quill always loved to try new things in the kitchen, but today, his nose was greeted with nothing.

 

Well, not exactly __nothing.__ There was the itching smell of __something,__ but it was more likely to be a gnat playing in his nosehairs than anything in the kitchen. Drax turned, ready to accept that he imagined the noises and go back to sleep when they came again.

 

Along with a loud, babyish burble.

 

Sighing, Drax turned to follow the noise rather than fall safely in to bed.

 

Grumbling, he ran a hand over his face as he came to the kitchen. In front of him lay the biggest mess he had seen in centuries.

 

Flour had been dumped onto the floor. Around it looked as if a pair of hands and knees had patted around with the sole purpose of spreading the mess more. As if that wasn’t enough, a cereal dish Quill had managed to obtain that had been ‘all the rage’ back on Terra was poured __everywhere.__ Drax could see the upturned box where it had fallen off of the counter, and the cereal scattered around the room in places Drax didn’t even know to be possible. The thick scent of spoiled orange juice hit his nostrils immediately, like a truck.

 

And there Groot sat in the middle of it, his little legs stuck straight out in front of him, his head drenched in a disgusting mixture of orange juice and flour, and a single, what Quill called,“cocoa puff” clutched in his hands.

 

He held the puff up in a way that reminded Drax of a piece offering, then stuck his little tongue out before quickly pulling it back in, making a perfect “pathup” noise.

 

Drax made a questioning face.

 

“Small friend, what did you wish to achieve through this?” He asked. Groot stuck his little tongue out and bit it lightly before putting his wet hands on the ground. He pushed up with as much force as he could manage, and within seconds he had stood, his arms out beside him for balance. He moved his legs, slowly and methodically, wobbling more than anything Drax had ever seen, and made his way over to the large man.

 

One on hand, Drax supposed he was proud. This little sapling had begun to walk -- though it was shaky and he had fallen more than twice -- all on his own.

 

On the other, this little tree had destroyed the only room on the Milano that they had managed to keep clean.

 

And then Groot fell, and Drax sighed, deep, long, and irritated.

 

\--

Rocket woke to a very loud clearing of someone’s throat followed by a tinier, more innocent imitation of the same noise.

 

He wasn’t planning to open his eyes. He really wasn’t. And then he felt the rage in the room coming off of whoever had entered in waves, and felt obligated to look and sit up.

 

He was greeted with a tiny, soaking wet, and sticky Groot being thrust into his arms by a very angry, annoyed, and exhausted Drax. The man grunted.

 

“Your tiny tree son has ruined Quill’s kitchen.”

 

* * *

 

 

It had been weeks since Groot had first emerged as a sentient sprout again, and, as he grew, the group was having to get used to more and more little habits of his. For example, how he rose every morning and ran -- well, toddled --  through the ship shrieking in glee to wake everyone, or how he would trot around on all floors even though he had recently learned to walk (When that came to light, he had gotten much praise from Rocket and had been treated to his favorite fruit by Gamora and Peter), or how he liked to chew on Rocket’s ears every time he sat on his furry friend’s shoulders. The one quirk that Rocket could not appreciate, however, was how Groot had taken to sucking his fingers for comfort.

 

Now, this __shouldn’t__ bother him. He knew this -- Groot had sometimes done that even when he was an adult, though normally subconsciously, and it had never bothered Rocket before. He supposed that it wasn’t the action that bothered him, but was more likely the fact that it was seen as so very __babyish__ by the rest of the team. Rocket would never patronize his friend for this habit -- if it brought comfort, then it was fine by the mammal. But the rest of the Guardians? Countless little ‘oos’ and ‘awws’, and little giggles that s _ _tank__ of affection were directed at the little tree.

 

Disgusting.

 

And so, it was Rocket’s sworn duty to break Groot’s habit.

 

Day one -- Vaseline.

 

Putting something sticky, and that would taste terrible, was Rocket’s first try. It would make Groot dislike the taste and feeling of his fingers, and so, he would refrain from chewing and sucking them. Early one morning, Rocket plucked Groot up and sat him on his makeshift desk before taking a jar of Vaseline and coating the tiny hands in front of him. And, to his surprise, it worked.

 

For ten minutes.

 

The two moved into the kitchen for breakfast soon after that, and within five minutes, Groot had begun wiping the sticky Vaseline -- and his breakfast -- all over his face. It turned out he __loved__ how the substance felt smeared over his bark.

 

Once it was off and was covering his face, the fingers were stuck straight into his little mouth.

 

The second try had the same result, and Rocket sighed.

 

Groot grinned from ear to ear as random items from around the ship began to stick to his face.

 

Day two -- Lemon Juice.

 

After a good long talk with Quill, the Guardians had been informed of a fruit from Terra called a ‘lemon’. Now, of course they had all heard of lemons before -- but, the way Quill described them, Terran lemons were __different__ from the lemons from other planets. They were sour. And __yellow.__

 

When Quill realized his team hadn’t tasted one of the sour fruits, he decided it was his purpose in life to find some and share their glory with his family.

 

Or, rather, __watch them squirm with discomfort as they shoved a whole slice into their mouths at his instruction.__

 

Within three standard days, Peter had found what he was looking for, and had shared the experience.

 

“Alright, guys. These are the best things I’ve ever tasted. I __promise.”__ Peter said with a smile. He wasn’t __exactly__ lying. Even if straight lemons were so sour he couldn’t stand it, he had always loved lemon custard, or a nice cold glass of lemonade. There __were__ specific lemons that were his favorite flavor, its just they were usually loaded down with a ton of sugar. His teammates didn’t need to know that.

 

“Peter, this is…” Gamora grimaced, chewing the slice the Terran had given her. She shuddered as she swallowed, her eyes watering. She didn’t finish the sentence.

 

Drax grinned and asked for another slice of the delicious fruit.

 

Rocket flat out spat his onto the table, yelling at Quill about the disgusting flavor.

 

As Quill laughed, the Raccoon got an idea.

 

That evening, when Rocket carried Groot into the common room for downtime, he had a piece of lemon in his hand.

 

“Rocket, what are you to do with that?” Gamora asked, confused. Rocket laughed.

 

“If I cover this guy’s hands in it, there’s no __way__ he’ll keep puttin’ his grubby hands in his mouth.”

 

Gamora gave him a look, but Peter spoke first.

 

“Oh, come on, Rocket. He’s just a baby. Baby’s do things like that, and there’s no reason to make ‘im stop. Besides. It’s cute.”

 

Rocket growled then, low and menacing, as he yanked Groot into his lap and took the lemon into his other hand.

 

“Ahh!” Groot squeaked, trying to squirm away. Rocket held him tight.

 

“Shh, buddy, hey, I’m just tryin’ to help ya.”

 

The Raccoon squished the lemon in his right paw, still holding Groot tight in the left, and let the juice trickle onto each of the sapling’s hands in turn. Groot stilled and watched it drip, his eyes fascinated.

 

“There. Be free.”

 

Rocket released his grip on the tree, but Groot remained frozen, staring at his dripping hands. He drew one to his face, and, as Rocket expected, stuck it into his mouth.

 

His face twisted up immediately in sour disgust, his little lips pursing around the fingers and his eyes squinching up tight. He made a little noise of discomfort, and Rocket laughed, knowing his plan had worked.

 

But then Groot didn’t remove the hand, and his little mouth began to suckle on the fingers.

 

Rocket buried his head in his hands and groaned.

 

Day three -- Socks

 

By this point, Rocket was getting desperate. Vaseline had made Groot giggle and make a mess. Lemon juice had caused Groot a little discomfort, but had not deterred the little creature from sticking his fingers right into his mouth.

 

Wracking his brain, Rocket decided to use socks.

 

Groot hated clothes -- always had. They itched his bark, and caused him to feel restrained. They were awful to him.

 

And, so, if nothing else would work, Rocket would use socks.

 

“Where’s the lil’ bugger?” Rocket asked as he walked into the common area. Drax sat at the table reading a data pad while Gamora had her head flipped over to pull her hair into a ponytail, but Groot and Quill were no where to be found.

 

“I do not believe there can be any bugs here. We are in space.” Drax said without looking up. Rocket sighed and began to speak again before he was loudly interupted.

 

“Well, I nee--”

 

“REEELEEASSSEEE THE TREEEEEEEEEEEEE!!!!!” Quill shouted, barrelling down the hall with Groot held tight in his arms. He threw Groot at top speed into the air while the small tree giggled loudly. He stumbled at first, but then began to run, screaming at the top of his lungs at he began to run towards Rocket.

 

“Ow, ouch, hey, man!” Rocket shouted as Groot began to claw his way up his friend’s leg. The Raccoon looked over to Quill to see the man panting with a wide grin on his face, his hands on his hips and his shirt drenched in sweat. It was obvious that he had been playing with Groot for quite some time. He looked to Rocket.

 

“’e found me workin’ on the plumbing. Right now you guys are pioneers and we’re invading your camp.”

 

Groot confirmed this with a yell as he beat his little fists on Rocket’s side.

 

“Well, no more ‘a that right now. Gotta try somethin’.”

 

Rocket pulled a pair of Gamora’s socks out with his right hand and lifted Groot easily with his left. Immediately after setting him onto the table, he slipped the socks onto Groot’s little hands and secured them with a rubber band.

 

“What is that for?” Gamora asked, rising with her hair now out of her face. Rocket smirked as Groot looked concernedly at his hands.

 

“Preventive measures. If he can’t get to his fingers, he won’t stick ‘em in his mouth. Ain’t that right, buddy?”

 

Groot glared as tears welled in his eyes.

 

“You should let the child chew his fingers. It isn’t like it will hurt him.” Gamora said. She had crossed her arms and was looking sternly at her teammate.

 

“Yeah, it’s not like it’ll cause any dental issues. He’s fine, Rocky.” Quill agreed.

 

“One, no nicknames. Next time I blast ya. And two, he’s my best friend. It’s my responsibility that he don’t got no silly habits that make him less valuable in a fight.”

 

“More like he’s your son and you don’t want him to get beat up.” Quill chimed in. Rocket snarled at him, and Groot began to cry.

 

After six temper tantrums, eight time outs, and one incident involving a pillow, super glue, and a broken tooth, Groot had settled and, surprisingly, had not sucked on his fingers in two weeks. Even when Rocket dared to remove the socks, the hands kept their way safely out of his mouth, though with much pouting and overall grouchy attitude.

 

Rocket was pleased to say that no one had referred to how ‘cute’ his friend was in a whole week. It was amazing. And then, it happened.

 

“What?! Redirecting the problem won’t __fix__ it, you a**hat!”

 

“Rocket, look at ‘im! He loves it! Could you really blame us for wanting that lil guy to be happy?!”

 

It was a routine shopping trip. A simple, normal, shopping trip on Xandar for food, water, and supplies. They did it __every two weeks,__ and everything was always the same.

 

Except for this time.

 

Groot and Rocket were in charge of shopping for food, Gamora and Quill supplies and the Terran trinkets Peter always tried to find, and Drax water.

 

“Alright, buddy. I think that’s enough pick-pocketing, huh?” Rocket yawned. “The spread’s not too good this time. All we got is ten units, half a pair of scissors, and a tooth. No, wait, that’s mine. Hah, so that’s where that went.” Rocket laughed and flicked the tooth out of his hand before leaning down to grab Groot off of the ground and place him on his shoulder. The twig pouted.

 

“Sorry, but my feet hurt, I gotta piss, and this won’t even buy us two drinks. Time to go.”

 

It wasn’t a long walk back to the Milano, but the duo still arrived back home after the others.

 

“Hey, ol’ buddy ol’ pal! How’s the lil guy?” Quill smiled, standing from the table where he and Gamora were sorting the supplies out into what belonged to who. Rocket shrugged.

 

“Eh, he’s fine. Bein’ a whiny b**ch if you ask me.”

 

“I was talking to Groot.” Quill grinned, patting Rockets back. The rodent growled slightly and pushed him off. “Speakin’ of which -- C’mere, little man, we got you something!”

 

Curious, Groot reached for Quill, squeaking a little in anticipation. Peter obliged and then began to talk.

 

“Gams--”

 

“Don’t call me that.”

 

“ _ _Gamora__ ,” Peter corrected, “had this idea. But I totally helped. I think this will make you a lot less grumpy than you have been since Grouchy Mc-RuleBook over there decided you couldn’t be a kid anymore.”

 

Rocket’s ears went back instantly as he crossed his arms.

 

“Alright, dou**e-lord. Show us what kinda stupid sh*t you got for ‘im.”

 

Peter grinned, then moved to Gamora in a manner that can only be described as a frolic. She smiled and shook her head before reaching into one of her bags and pulling out a small plastic container.

 

“Now, I know this isn’t a normal thing for…. trees, I guess, but I also know that things like this kept my thumbs out of my mouth when I was growin’ up.”

 

After fiddling with the packaging for a moment, Peter turned around to reveal a small object -- a slightly transparent pink-tinted plastic sheathe in the shape of a butterfly with a clear handle. It had a rubbery tip sticking out of one end and the sheathe was covered in intricate vine and flower designs. Rocket immediately recognized it.

 

“No way are you givin’ Groot a binky.”

 

“Oh, c’mon, Rocket. He’s just a little kid, let him live some.” Peter tried, his hands going instantly to his hip.

 

“The answer’s no, Quill. Groot’s a grown tree. He don’t need a sucky. Ain’t that right, Groot?”

 

Groot betrayed his friend then by reaching out to grab the object.

 

“Ah! Ah!” He cooed, his arms extended fully. Quill handed him the pacifier, and it went straight into his mouth. Groot grinned behind it, and Rocket looked utterly offended.

 

“Are you __kiddin’__ me?!” Rocket cried. He threw his hands up. “Alright, __fine.__ You idiots win! Groot can act like an absolute __infant__ if he wants! Just leave me out of it!”

 

“Days without a meltdown: Zero.” Quill said, crossing his arms smugly. Rocket looked up at him, angry.

 

“What do you mean?! He’s perfectly happy to make me annoyed!”

 

“I meant, you, dumb-a**. Looks like Daddy wants baby to be all grown up.”

 

Gamora had to break up the fist fight.

 

 

Now it had been a week since Groot had received the pacifier. Rocket had given up completely on keeping it from the twig. If it made him happy, Rocket supposed he could be okay with it. Even if every single member of the team had begun cooing over Groot again. He would give up that fight.

 

He had not, however, given up on insisting his friend was an adult.

 

* * *

 

 

Normally, nights on the Milano were as simple as an evening with many different species on one ship could be. After many weeks of an irregular schedule, the team had fallen into a somewhat normal routine.

 

Drax would be the first to depart if they were all together, retiring to his room to begin his nightly workout routine early. He disliked going to sleep without sore muscles, and that meant his routine had to start early.

 

Gamora usually went next, stopping into the boys’ little nook where they did ‘manly’ things (Mostly toyed with Peter’s old video games, built things, and had silly arm wrestling competitions) to give Groot his required forehead kiss.

 

The small plant himself would almost always be curled up sleepily in Rocket’s lap, and would beam in exhaustion when the kiss was planted on his head. Gamora would remind them not to let Groot stay up too late, then be off to bed.

 

Quill would spend his time having a late night snack (Generally a meat jerky of some sort) while he and Rocket either competed in a digital game or in some other way. The Raccoon would either hold the tiny tree close or let him wander around before time for bed.

 

Generally, they would depart as soon as someone began to yawn. Groot would cling to Rocket’s shoulder as he walked them back to their room, mostly asleep and only waking to be placed down on his side of their shared bed. (Even if he did __always__ end up on Rocket’s side, curled up as close as possible to the furry creature every night.)

 

But tonight, for some reason, was somewhat…off.

 

Drax had gone to bed as normal, and so had Gamora. She entered the room in time to see Groot boost himself off of the ground and into the unsuspecting Raccoon’s lap before reaching over and grabbing his new pacifier and plunking it sleepily into his mouth. She smiled, but when she came to give Groot his goodnight kiss, the little tree flinched away. He scrunched his face up and moved only a little, making a tiny whimpering noise as he did so. Gamora seemed to understand.

 

“That is quite fine. It is a no-touch night.”

 

No-touch nights were almost as common as their nightly routine. Some days, when Groot would be overstimulated by touches and pettings and sounds throughout the day, he would react badly to being touched any more. And that was fine; the entire team complied to the tree’s boundaries after Rocket explained them.

 

Gamora waved lightly to the tree instead, and blew him a kiss before planting a very small and subtle one on the top of Peter’s head.

 

“Don’t stay up too late,” She said, sounding much like a mother warning her children that if they disobeyed, there would be consequences. “Groot is still growing, and even If you don’t, he needs his rest. Goodnight.”

 

And she was gone, and within an hour Peter and Rocket had finished their game and went back to an earlier conversation: A broad topic of who one Peter Quill had and hadn’t made out with.

 

“Okay, okay, so what about a Twi’lek?” Rocket said, a laugh playing in his voice.

 

Peter nodded, a smug expression on his face, and Rocket thought a little harder.

 

“Alright, how about a...how ‘bout a Dathomiri?”

 

Quill grinned, and closed his eyes in exaggeration.

“Oh yeah. They are smokin’.”

 

“Too easy… uhm…. Mon Calamari?” Rocket tried again.

 

At this suggestion Peter shrugged, his expression on the cusp of embarrassment.

 

“...What can I say? She had a nice personality.”

 

“Oh, __gross,__ man!” Rocket was laughing hysterically at this point just thinking of that exchange. “How did that work, Quill?! Did she __swallow__ your whole head, or--” A pause. “What in the..”

 

And then he stopped, because warm sap had dripped onto his fingers, and he looked down to the small Flora Collosus in his lap. Quill followed his gaze.

 

“You okay there, buddy?” He said softly to Groot.

 

The sprout in question had his fists clenched desperately as they shook, and his pacifier quivered as his little lips trembled as tears flowed rapidly down his cheeks. He let out a little whimpering noise before coughing out a single violent sob as well as his much-loved pacifier, and reached for Rocket’s embrace. The raccoon obliged, his normally stern face turning very soft and… worried. He picked the twig up off of his lap and boosted him to his shoulder, where the child clung helplessly, whimpering as the tears flowed freely from his eyes.

 

“What the flark….” Rocket whispered, carefully rocking back and forth in a manner that Peter would describe as __much__ too gentle for a man who loved explosions as much as Rocket did.

 

“Is he…I dunno, man, is he hurt?” Peter leaned in closer to Rocket to look at the little sapling on his shoulder. Groot coughed and whimpered again, trying to hide himself from Peter’s gaze.

 

He didn’t like to be pitied. But right now, all he knew to do was cry. He didn’t know how else to get the feeling to stop. __Something__ wasn’t right.

 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” Rocket mumbled. His eyebrows knit in concern as he patted Groot’s back. He felt scared, but his voice came across angry. “If this d’ast idiot could talk to me, maybe I’d be able to figure it out.”

 

Groot didn’t like that. It wasn’t his fault he couldn’t talk yet, and it wasn’t fair that Rocket blamed him for it. But, at the same time, he knew his friend was simply showing his love. That’s how he did it -- by doling out insults and snarky remarks.

 

And so he began to cry harder.

 

“Uh… maybe he needs to sleep?? I know when I was a kid and we had all the cousins over, the little ones would always get testy if they didn’t get to bed on time. What time is it?” Peter glanced at the clock on the far wall, and made a face. “Well, sh*t, Rocket, no wonder he’s getting agitated. It’s nearly three am.”

 

 Rocket nodded silently, his paw patting the sprout’s back.

 

“Yeah, yeah, you’re probably right…” He mumbled. He stood. “C’mon, a**hole. Time to sleep.”

 

Peter watched as Rocket walked out of the room, and hoped that was all.  
  
\---

  
Groot always slept sitting up. That was a fact, and Rocket knew it -- Groot would stay upright at all costs, unless he was in pain. If he was in pain, Groot would curl up like the best of us and wait it out.

 

Rocket arrived back at his bunk quickly. The little used-to-be-storage-closet-that-Quill-had-allowed-him-to-call-his-own looked almost peaceful -- with Rocket’s desk lamp illuminating the tiny space, and his blankets ringed up in kind of a little nest in the middle of his cheap mattress. Rocket took that as a sign that everything was fine, trying his hardest to believe that his best friend was only crying from exhaustion.

 

“Alright, buddy, I know it’s tough, but you gotta give me a minute to strip.” He said, prying the sapling from his shoulder and setting him gently on the bed. Instantly, Groot’s eyes welled up again, and his little voice cried out in a loud, desperate manner.

 

Rocket hurriedly picked him up and held him close as he struggled to remove his shirt. (Though he wore a shirt at all times due to his scarring, he wouldn’t dare sleep in one. He wore it for dignity, and it was most definitely __not__ comfortable.)

 

“It’s alright, it’s alright, we’re gettin’ in bed now, it ain’t the end of the world.”

 

The Raccoon pulled back and fluffed his blankets and burrowed deep into them before placing Groot upright next to the headboard. He then patted the child’s head as his tears began to stop, the sapling’s expression changing to pure exhaustion. Rocket gave him a little smile before turning off the lamp.

 

“G’night, kid. ‘N’ stop cryin’, you’re gonna hurt yourself.”

 

Groot always slept sitting up.

 

Tonight, Rocket ignored the fact that Groot went to sleep lying to his left.

 --

Rocket was __not__ a morning person. On the rare nights that he even got any sleep, the raccoon would sleep in as late as possible and would simply bask in the joy that he __could__ sleep in now.

 

Before, when he and Groot were on the road, the sleep cycles they got were few and far between. With the constant search for bounties, and the constant fear in the back of their minds that they would be caught and taken back to Halfworld, they had slept only occasionally and in small, run down areas of town.

 

That means behind dumpsters and in alleyways. Or, sometimes, if they were feeling particularly snobbish that night, __in__ dumpsters and __behind__ alleyways.

 

Now, Rocket even had a __bed.__ And that was something he would never take for granted by abandoning it at the crack of dawn. That was the rule, however, unless something was wrong.

 

Today, something was __definitely__ wrong.

 

At four AM, Terran Standard Time, Rocket awoke to screaming. Now, this wasn’t the __normal__ screaming. Normally, Groot would rise as early as possible and then run shrieking through the hallways. He would shout, and squeal, and giggle and babble about through every hall on the ship until everyone was awake -- to feed, or play with, or just pay attention to him, and he had been doing this since the moment he could walk. Normally Rocket would pat his head and go back to sleep, and the others would rise and care for the little one.

 

Today, at four AM, Groot was somewhere in the room. Not shrieking, not babbling, but __screaming.__

__

“What?! What’s happening?!” Rocket yelled as he broke abruptly from sleep, shooting up and looking immediately for his companion. “Groot, where the he** are you!? What’s wrong?!”

 

He couldn’t see his friend. Not in the bed, not on the floor, not anywhere, but he could hear the screams -- the long, almost sobbing, yells of agony and fear.

 

And, for Rocket, that was scary.

 

He hopped out of bed rapidly, not even pulling on clothes over his underwear, and knelt to the ground on his hands and knees.

 

“Groot!? Groot, where are ya, buddy??”

 

He looked everywhere -- under all the blankets on his bed, in the desk drawer, between the matress and the wall in the little space Groot liked to sometimes have ‘tea parties’ in, and even in Rocket’s basket of spare parts. The cries were loud, so he couldn’t be far, but where was he?

 

And then Rocket stopped a minute. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and listened. Groot had once taught him to do that when he let his anger get the best of him. Counting had always helped both of them calm down, and so he began to do just that.

 

When he reached __ten,__ he had focused completely in on the noise. He opened his eyes and glanced around, and after a moment, he realized it -- Why hadn’t he looked there before?!

 

Rocket scurried on all fours over to the unkempt laundry hamper at the far side of the room and peered in, his paws boosting him to see over the edge. There was Groot, tiny and crowded in the middle of the pile of clothes and blankets. He was lying there, but he wasn’t still -- he was thrashing lightly, grabbing onto and letting go of the bits of fabric he could grasp. He pulled them over him and then flung them back, and, if Rocket didn’t know any better, he would say it was a regular temper tantrum.

 

But Rocket did know better.

 

“Hey, hey, buddy, hey, c’mere, shhh,” He said softly, his tone much different than his normal cocky voice. He was worried. He didn’t know what could be going on -- Even though he and Groot mostly communicated through nonverbal cues, it was reassuring for Rocket to hear a simple “I am Groot” to help him find out what was wrong. But, now..

 

Groot hadn’t spoken since before the explosion. The last time Rocket had heard his best friend say anything other than little grunts and babbles was when he knowingly faced death to save his only friends in the world.

 

“ _ _We__ are Groot.”

 

“ _ _I love you.”__

__

Rocket didn’t like to think about it. Thinking about that meant experiencing his friend’s -- his __best__ friend’s, his __brother’s --__ death

 

He didn’t reach down and touch Groot no matter what his instincts told him. He knew the tiny tree needed space, and he planned to give him that unless he asked -- not verbally -- for it. Surprisingly, he did.

 

Rocket saw tiny hands reach up and grasp the air as the Flora Collossus let out a minuscule, pining squeaky sound, his eyes shut tight and large sap tears dripping slowly down his face over streaks  that looked like they had been there for quite some time.

 

“Oh, shh, shh, shh..” Rocket said as soft as he could possibly muster, reaching down with both hands. He clasped Groot around the waist and the child convulsed forward, screeching and following with a loud sob. His hands grappled with Rocket’s fingers and fur, trying to pull himself closer to his friend -- closer to the __only__ thing he could imagine could help him at all. Rocket obliged immediately, pulling his friend to his chest.

 

Groot continued to sob, and Rocket continued to worry. Had he done something wrong?

 

Taking a breath, he thought back to what he had done when Groot was big. He knew how to help big Groot. Little Groot however… The little guy seemed so __fragile__ to Rocket. If not for the memories that were painstakingly-slowly coming back into the small plant’s mind, Rocket would believe he was Groot’s offspring rather than his actual friend. He knew better and, though Groot was still an adult to Rocket, his tiny body really threw the Raccoon for a loop. What if he __broke__ him? What if he scared him, or did something wrong, or --

 

Rocket took a breath.

 

If Groot was sick, Rocket knew he would lay down.

 

Check.

 

Going off of that, Rocket knew that Groot would need help pinpointing the cause of his pain. Before doing so, however, he decided to go after Quill. The man had a gentler touch than Rocket did, and, even if it was hard for Rocket to admit It, he knew he would feel less worried about breaking his friend if Quill was there with him.

 

Begrudgingly, Rocket stood and began to make his way to Quill’s room.

 

Star-lord was already awake.

 

“Man, I was just about to come find you! What the he** was that noise?! What’s wrong?!” He cried, pulling on a shirt.

 

“It’s Groot, I -- “ Rocket paused to catch his breath. “Somethin’s wrong, man. I don’t know what. Somethin’ big.”

 

Groot boosted his tiny friend on his shoulder, and the infant screeched.

 

“Uh, uh maybe -- maybe he needs a comfort item yeah? He’s had nightmares before, let’s try this, here, I picked it up off the floor when you guys went to bed…” Quill picked the pink pacifier up off of the floor before popping it into Groot’s open, yowling mouth. The crying stopped. “What did I say? Boom. Go back to bed, buddy.”

 

And then Groot spit the soother out and screamed at the top of his lungs.

 

Quill yelled in surprise, and Rocket followed suit before placing the baby on the bed.

 

“What now?!” He said loudly, careful not to be too loud for Groot’s sensitive ears.

 

“Uh, I dunno!” Peter said, his eyes frantic. “Maybe he’s hungry?!”

 

Rocket punched his leg.

 

“ _ _No,__ this is __not__ his hungry cry. Something’s up. I just… Gosh, I used to be so good at figuring out what was up with him!”

 

“Babies are difficult, dude. Not your fault.

 

“He is NOT a baby, he’s my __best friend__ and he--” Rocket paused, a choked off sob that he barely even fought to hold off escaping him. “He needs me and my stupid mechanical mind can’t figure it out!”

 

Groot began to cry again, his tears dripping from his face. He reached towards Rocket, but the Raccoon didn’t notice in his panic. Groot needed Rocket right now. He was nauseous, and sleepy, and flark, he was hurting __so bad.__ He __needed__ his companion, and he needed him right now. There had to be something he could do. He mustered all of his pain, nausea, courage, and raw need for a hug into one great cry.

 

“Am.. Am Groo!” He squealed, reaching out and letting out a loud, messy sob. “Am Groo!!!”

 

“Not now, Groot, I can’t figure out--- Wait.” Rocket turned quicker than previously thought possible and tears were obvious in his eyes. “Groot, holy sh*t, Groot…”

 

Rocket hurried to the bed and kneeled.

 

“Am Groooooooo!” Groot cried, his words turning into a high pitched cry. Tears dripped down Rockets face the same as Groot’s, but he still reached down to wipe them off the tree’s face instead of his own.

 

“I know, buddy, I know, it’s gonna be just fine...”

 

Quill kneeled.

 

“What did he…”

 

“He said “it hurts”, Quill! He said “It hurts and I’m scared”! Now what the flark did you do to him?!”

 

“Okay, okay, calm down, calm down.” Peter tried, holding his hands out. “There has to be some other explanation, he…”

 

And then Groot rolled onto his side and choked, vomiting down his front and the bed. And then he screamed again.

 

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh, what the he**..” Rocket panicked, his hands held out as he did what Peter would later describe as a “street fighter idle animation”.

 

“Relax, he spits up all the time, right? Nothing new, just a little acid reflux, it’ll be fine--”

 

“No, it’s __NOT__ fine, Quill! That ain’t just some undigested milky-crap, that was __actual barf.__ Groot doesn’t do that unless -- Oh my gosh, what did you feed him?!”

 

Peter panicked as Groot coughed another loud, wet sob.

 

“I didn’t, I-”

 

Rocket cut him off.

 

“You spit it out right now Quill or so help me I will hunt down your father and wave your sad, decapitated head on a stick in front of him!”

 

“Harsh, dude, you don’t even know if I --”

 

Another hiccuping sob from Groot, followed by the wet sound of vomit dripping onto the bed sheets. Rocket looked ready to strangle his teammate.

 

“Am Groo!” He cried, trying to stop the two from fighting and __help him.__

 

“Okay, uh, I might have dropped some jerky, yeah?? Maybe he got ahold of--”

 

“QUILL YOU __IDIOT.”__  Rocket shouted, going straight to Groot and kneeling beside him.

 

“What?! What did I do?!”

 

Rocket picked Groot up off of the bed. He immediately screeched and began to sob harsher, grappling to grab his best friend.

 

“He can’t process meat, Quill. Like at all. This is what it does! He’s gonna be sick and miserable all night, and it’s all your fault!”

 

Groot greeted that with a gag over Rocket’s shoulder.

 

“Am Groo, am Groo!!” He quivered. __Not his fault!__

 

“Man, I didn’t know, I promise I…”

 

For the first time in months, Rocket was able to listen to Groot. He took what he said to heart.

 

“Save it. He’ll be fine, just… He’s gonna hurt somethin’ awful for a bit. My one condition is you hafta clean everything up after this. Kapeesh?” Rocket looked very upset as he patted and rocked Groot, but offered Quill a glare that was only half as angry as his normal one.

 

Quill sighed.

“Kapash. I am so sorry, man.” He reached over then to pat Groot’s quivering back and the child whimpered. “You too, little man. Never again. You know, Daddy’s real proud of you for saying your first words. Look at him.”

 

He gave Rocket a little smirk.

 

Rocket turned on his heel and flicked vomit off of his shoulder into Quill’s face.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It had been two days since Groot had gotten ahold of Peter’s jerky and had said his first words. After two full nights and a full day of nonstop projectile vomiting to get every little crumb he had scavenged out of his system, Groot was finally almost back to his normal self.

 

Not running around at four am ready to party normal. But normal enough.

 

“Am Groo, Am Groo!” Groot said excitedly, patting Rocket’s sleeping form on the nose. His voice was much weaker than it probably should be at this point, but that was okay. Rocket was just happy to hear it, even if it was waking him up at six in the morning.

 

“Hey, buddy.” Rocket said with a yawn, reaching over to pat the tiny twig’s back.

 

“Am Groo.”

 

“Breakfast? You actually hungry, big guy?” Rocket sat up quickly to look at his friend. The little tree, his bark paler and more fragile than normal after the day and a half of sickness, grinned widely.

 

“Alright, then let’s go get you fed.”

 

Rocket stood and picked Groot up, careful not to hit his head on the mobile Quill had made for Groot while he was ill. An “I’m sorry” gift, he called it. Groot loved it.

 

“Ah, ah!” Groot cried in a small voice, reaching over to the shelf that housed his pacifier.

 

“None ‘a that baby talk, man. Words unless you can’t make ‘em. I’m proud ‘a you, buddy. That was a big step to bein’ back to your old self.” Rocket smiled, though. He wasn’t actually being serious. He was proud, and so he didn’t even protest to letting Groot have the babyish item.  

 

“Am Groo?” The sapling asked as the pacifier was handed to him.  

 

“Nah, I ain’t gonna stop ya. You deserve it, what after two nights of pukin’ your guts up and sayin’ the first understandable words since your big debut.”

Satisfied with this, Groot plopped it into his mouth and grinned. Rocket began to walk towards the kitchen.

 

“Hey, if it isn’t the Princess and the Pea, ready for action again.” Peter said happily, seeing Groot smiling. “How you feelin’, big man? Doin’ better?” Groot giggled. He liked being called a princess.

 

“Am Groo!” He said around the soother.

 

Peter looked at Rocket for translation.

 

“’E says he’s hungry, ‘n that you should bow down to his royal highness. Hate to break it to ya, buddy, but you’re the pea.” Rocket said, turning to Groot at the end with a laugh. Quill gave a mighty grin.

 

“No, actually, he’s right. You’re the pea.”

 

And then Drax laughed, loud and hearty at this.

 

“I understand! The joke is that Rocket is tiny and dainty and causes Groot much discomfort, like in your Terran story book!”

 

Rocket rolled his eyes.

 

“Okay, fine, sure whatever. But Groot here needs some grub,” Rocket paused and sniffed, then made a face. “Then I gotta go wash ‘im. You’re smellin’ kinda ripe, there, buddy.”

 

“Am Groo!”

 

Rocket rolled his eyes with a smile.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I know its cause ‘a bein’ sick. Don’t mean you smell any better, though.”

 

“I am very proud of you for speaking, Groot. You are growing up well.” Drax said, giving the tree a smile. He had stood and was walking towards the hall, pausing to pat Groot on the back. The tree beamed, and Drax smiled back. “You remind me of my daughter. Always positive. Keep that smile on your face, little man.”

 

“Am Groo!! Am Groo!” Groot squealed, bouncing a little.

 

“Hey now, bud, don’t work yourself up too much. You’re still getting better, we don’t want a relapse.” Quill said, standing from the table. He moved to the cabinets. “What do you want, Twig-erella?”

 

“Groo!”

 

“I believe thats a call for my world famous pancakes, yeah?” Peter grinned, excited when he saw Groot nod. “Haha! Soon I’ll be as fluent as you in Groot-ese, Rocket.”

 

“Don’t get cocky, Quill. You just knew that ‘cause he’s been askin’ for the same thing since the first time you made ‘em.” The raccoon shrugged Groot off of his shoulder and boosted him onto the table before taking a seat beside him.

 

Twenty minutes later, Groot had torn into one pancake ravenously and had only left half on the plate, though it took him a little under an hour to do so. While it wasn’t as much as he normally ate (3/4), it was still more than he’d eaten in the past few days. He was happy, full, and covered from head to toe in syrup.

 

“Someone needs a bath,” Gamora said as she walked into the room. She was sweaty and dressed in a tank top, a sure-fire sign that she had just finished working out. She paused to softly kiss the top of Peter’s head before reaching to pat Groot’s head. She thought again and blew him a kiss instead.

 

“You look gorgeous.” Peter said softly, his eyes staring at Gamora’s skin. The woman rolled her eyes, but she did so with a smile on her face.

 

“I’ll look better after I deliver a quick punch to your face.”

 

Peter startled and held his hands up.

 

“Duly noted, boss. Rocket, why don’t we get the kid washed up?”

 

Rocket stood with a wordless nod and lifted Groot from the table, grimacing as his hands got covered in sticky syrup.

 

“Eugh, buddy, you are a mess.” He said in disgust, flinging one hand to his side to get the sugary substance off. Groot burbled in contentment. “Quill will you hold this monster for a second while I go get his basket?”

 

The man in question grinned and walked over to grab Groot. He continued to smile even as he got syrup all over him from the twig.

 

“Who’s a messy boy?! Who??” Peter cooed, nuzzling his nose towards the infant. Groot giggled. “Yes, you are!! Groot is!!”

 

“Quill, you are demented.” Rocket judged as he walked away, shaking his head. Peter didn’t hear him, or, more likely, chose to ignore the remark.

 

“To the sink!” He said in an announcer-like voice before ‘zooming’ Groot to the kitchen sink. (This was simply Groot pretending to fly as Quill maneuvered him like a space ship through the air.)

 

“Am Groo!” The Flora Collosus squealed. He loved everything about this moment -- Other than being a little weak, he was all better. He loved water, he loved Peter, he loved bubbles, he loved to pretend and he loved Rocket. Bathtime was Groot’s favorite part of the day, and, now that he was able to bathe again without vomiting, he was ready to indulge greatly in it. Rocket had better bring the bath toys!

 

Rocket did not, however, bring the toys. But that was okay, Groot decided. Just having fun with two of his family members would be just fine with him.

 

“Am Groo,” He said seriously to Rocket when the Raccoon hopped up onto the stool beside Quill. The larger laughed.

 

“Of course we ain’t gonna let you drown, buddy. It’s like two feet of water, and you don’t even hafta breathe. You’ll be fine.”

 

“Plus, if anyone’ll drown, it’ll be Rocket from our waTER FIGHT!” Quill shouted, spraying Rocket with the nozzle as he turned the sink on. Groot could sense pure anger radiating off of his friend, but he couldn’t help but laugh. This was too funny!

 

With a wordless growl, Rocket kept his glare on Quill and reached over to readjust the nozzle into the basin. The ‘tub’ began to fill, and Groot began to splash.

 

“Am Groo?” He asked, looking to Peter.

 

“He wants bubbles.” Rocket translated as he stuck a hand in to test the water temperature. He adjusted the knob then stuck his hand in again.

 

“Oh! Of course!” Peter smacked his forehead playfully. “I totally forgot. You hold on, little man.”

 

After a moment, Peter was gone, off to fetch soap that would foam and bubble beautifully around the sapling as he bathed.

 

A few moments passed as Rocket splashed and scrubbed Groot in the warm water. After a long, drawn out conversation about rock formations instigated by the smaller, (“Am Groo?” “They just do, okay.” “Am..Groo?” “No, I’m not an expert!” “Am! Groo!” “Of course I don’t know my rocks, man, I’ve only been alive ten years!”) Rocket realized he had forgotten something important.

 

“Oh, hold up, man, I gotta go grab your towel. You gonna be okay here on your own for a second?”

 

Groot nodded, and Rocket smiled. What trouble could his friend get into within the five minutes it took him to get towels?

 

\--

 

“Here comes Star-lord, here to save the day aga--”

 

Peter stopped as he ran into Rocket, nearly knocking the furry creature over.

 

“Beep beep, super hero comin’ through.” He said, only a little irate. Rocket held his hand out, to stop Quill, then gestured vaguely to the scene in front of him.

 

There in front of them sat Groot. He was out of the sink, and surrounded by a large puddle of water, and… Peanut butter. And….potting soil. And….were those corn flakes?

 

Groot grinned up at them, then splatted his hands onto the ground to listen to the satisfying sticky sound. He giggled and babbled a little then, not making real words. Rocket slammed his head into his hands then, and sighed, deep and long.

 

“What have you done, you tiny ba**ard…”  

 

And then Quill was squatting behind him, his mouth suddenly right beside Rocket’s left ear. His voice was high and singsong when he spoke.

 

“Baaaaaaaaabbbbbyyyyy!”

* * *

 

 

Ever since Groot had begun to talk, the rest of the team had begun trying harder than ever to understand him. While they still hadn’t picked up on everything, one phrase had sorely stuck out:

 

“Am Groo!”

 

“You are __not__ a grown up, Groot!”

 

This time, it was Quill telling him this.

 

It had been a week since that fateful day he had voiced his discomfort to the world, and within that week he had spoken the same phrase a grand total of 116 times. Every single time, he was reminded of his smallness -- except for when he was around Rocket. Rocket would assure the sprout that yes, he was. He was an adult, and no one could tell him otherwise.

 

Oh, but they did.

 

This time, Groot was trying to make breakfast all on his own.

 

“Buddy, I’m sorry, you can’t do that. Those are big people tools.”

 

“Gosh, Quill, he is big people. Let ‘im live a little.” Rocket interjected, not looking up from his datapad.

 

“No means no, Groot. Okay?” Gamora broke in, trying to take the spatula that was bigger than he was out of Groot’s hands. The little guy pouted and stomped his foot, holding fast to the utensil.

 

“Am Groo! Am Groo, Am Groo, Am Groo!”

 

“No, I do not care how many times you say it. You are not an adult, you are a child, and children cannot use the stove.” Gamora said, finally pulling the spatula from the little guy’s arms.

 

“Am Groo!”

 

Rocket spit out his drink and slammed his datapad down.

 

“No you will __not__ go touch knives! I don’t care how big you are, buddy, but you don’t get to play with those!”

 

And then Rocket noticed Gamora and Peter staring at him pointedly.

 

‘ _ _I told you so,’__ Peter mouthed, grinning. Rocket huffed, and Gamora picked Groot up from the table.

 

“You boys play nice. I expect this to be worked out by dinner tonight. Groot and I are going to go color.” She said, glaring at each male in turn. She pinched Quill’s elbow and Rocket’s ear in turn with her free hand as she went.

 

“Okay, man. I know you don’t want to say it. I know it’s hard or whatever, because he’s your long time lover or something, but you gotta face the facts. Groot is a __baby,__ and you gotta treat him like one!” Quill cried, his hands gesturing wildly.

 

“He ain’t no baby, Quill. I done told you, and told you, and told you. He’s just the same as he was before he--” Rocket paused and looked at his feet. “Before. He doesn’t get special treatment for that.”

 

Quill sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

 

“I see where you’re coming from. I get it, I really do. But don’t you remember how you grew up? You remember the tests, and the pain, and all the people treating you like you were ready to face the world when you weren’t. Those people who made you go out and fight, and made you learn things you shouldn’t know unless you’re grown, and made you face so much death and pain that you felt like a senior citizen before you were even a kid? That’s who you’re turning into. You can’t expect him to be like he was, because if you treat him the same -- if you treat him like he’s still the brawn of the team, or that he’s still gotta fight.. .He’s not gonna grow up to be like he was.”

Quill paused and swallowed. Rocket stayed silent.

 

“Just think about it, okay, man? If I got to I’ll raise him myself. But he needs you, Rocket. You’re his best friend.”  With that, Quill turned away and followed Gamora’s path.

 

“He ain’t a baby.” Rocket mumbled, tears gathering in his eyes. But this time, he didn’t believe himself.

 --

 

It was very, very late when Rocket’s bladder woke him from a deep slumber. One disadvantage to being so small -- he found himself having to pee upwards of 10 times a day. But, such was life. The Raccoon stood and stretched before sleepily walking towards the bathroom.

 

The hallway was dimly lit with the small lights on the bottom of the wall tracing the floor. They weren’t as bright as the normal overhead lights, but the team was able to agree that they were a good idea so no one tripped over Rocket, or Groot, or one of Quill’s shoes, or a misplaced spaghetti strainer in the middle of the night. And, yes, these were all things that had happened before -- generally with a disgruntled ‘oof’ from Groot, a fight with Rocket, or a pleased “Oh! That’s where you were!” from Quill. Rocket was grateful for the lights. He didn’t like to be stepped on any more than he absolutely had to be.

 

After doing his business, Rocket climbed to step stool to wash his paws. He may be animalistic, but one thing he would never do was lick his hands clean after relieving himself. He wasn’t a heathen.

 

Standing there, he couldn’t help but look himself in the mirror. What he saw wasn’t a hardened criminal, or a lover of explosions, or an expert mechanic. What he saw was a tired figure with bags under his eyes and droopy ears, and a dried up fruit snack stuck under his eye, a flowered barrette in his fur, and a -- was that a corn flake __in__ his ear?! He looked purely exhausted, and not from battles or sleepless nights hiding from the authorities. He thought fleetingly that maybe Quill was right, because he looked that way from __parenthood.__

__

Rocket stopped, gave himself a horrified expression, and splashed his entire face with freezing cold water.

 

He wouldn’t believe that.

 

He was Groot’s best friend, not his babysitter. Not his dad.

 

It must’ve been the late hour. Hurriedly, Rocket dried his hands on his fur, and went back to his room. The open door illuminated his bed and desk, and, after his eyes adjusted, he could see Groot sitting against the headboard. However, he didn’t seem peaceful. He was making little mewling noises, and his arms were reaching out. He was obviously asleep, but it didn’t look like he’d stay that way long. Without making much noise, Rocket moved to the bed and pulled back the blankets. As soon as he sat down, he felt taproots reach out and wrap around his fingers. Rocket looked down at the little figure beside him, who was now peaceful again, with his pacifier being suckled fiercely and many taproots attached firmly to the bed and his caretaker.

 

Even with the taproots, Groot reached over with his hand and grasped Rocket’s finger. The Raccoon sighed and patted Groot’s back.

 

”Okay, fine. I get it. You’re a da** baby.” Rocket felt the grip around his finger tighten. “But you’re my da** baby. I won’t let you feel like I did. You’re all I got, you tiny idiot, and I’m gonna make sure you turn out alright.”  

 

Maybe this would work. Maybe Rocket could be this tiny sprout’s best friend __and__ his babysitter.

 

Maybe Rocket could be his dad.

* * *

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: I just could picture Peter singing into a hairbrush /perfectly/. And I could picture Groot eating lipstick, and vomiting into Peter's mouth, and.. Just being a baby. Here's to all the dads out there - Even if you're struggling, it'll be okay. Rocket's having a hard time, too.
> 
> Happy Father's Day, everyone. And a shoutout to my friend RandomYetNot on Tumblr for doing all the editing for this! I love you booboo!


End file.
